Et a Bete
by lizzie056
Summary: Follows the story of Darcy in London and his hunt for and dealings with Wickham - Abandoned - it's not as good as it should be
1. Chapter I

_As some fond virgin, whom her mother's care_

_Drags from the town to wholesome country air,_

_Just when she learns to roll a melting eye,_

_And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;_

_From the dear man unwilling she must sever,_

_Yet takes one kiss before she parts for ever;_

_Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,_

_Saw others happy, and with sighs withdrew;_

_Not that their pleasures caused her discontent,_

_She sighed not that They stayed, but that She went._

_POPE_

If Elizabeth had ever been of the disposition which believed happiness to come without a price the past year had done everything in its power to eradicate it. Her own happiness, her sisters' happiness; her parents' and her friend's happiness, all had been compromised, either through their own or someone else's ambition.

It therefore should have surprised her not that she now found herself wallowing in a state of self-reproach and folly, arising chiefly from the fact that, for one glorious summer's morning she had found herself completely and unabashedly happy. This happiness had sprung from the knowledge that she, Elizabeth Bennet, was the object of unconditional admiration and could only be strengthened by the knowledge that she was herself very much inclined to return the admiration.

But oh! with feelings of admiration she could cope: feelings of admiration would have been Fate's way of doing her a kindness. She felt something for sure, but it was not admiration. It was a deep, burning ache in her chest, which she could only suppose, was her body's own means of telling her heart how very foolish and silly it had been for allowing its mistress to be happy, and was now seeking to punish it by filling it with the most passionate and cordial love imaginable. Typical .

Being a sensible young woman she had tried to reason this feeling away; it was the mountains she would miss, the rocks she would mourn: the rough and untamed beauty of the North which she knew she could not possibly find in the South. And of course, being s sensible young woman she knew all this to be metaphors and poppycock. She would miss the strong, stern, harsh North dearly, but nature's landscape was not quite in the forefront of her mind, which is a pity really because, as she lay in her own bed for the first time since what seemed like an age, the harsh, untamed beauty of the North had saddled his horse and was riding, with no undue haste, down the road, to London.

* * *

It had taken only one look for Darcy to know what he had to do, which is odd because this look was not a look at all. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had hid her face in hands, desperately trying to conceal her tears and stifle her sobs. Her aspect presented a queer image, one of indomitable strength tinged with utter hopelessness: Athena in torment.

The love of one, and utter hatred of the other, meant that, even before Athena had dried her tears, his will was set; a will so considerable, all the hordes of Hades could not stop him.

If it had not been for the slight issue of etiquette Darcy would have set off for London the moment he set foot out of The Royal Oak inn. As it was he had one sister, one friend, a household of staff and three hangers-on to attend to, in that exact order. Chivalry would have to be put aside for now in exchange for manners. Other than this the only trouble Darcy could cite was how much of the truth about what had passed he was reasonably in a position to disclose, and to whom. He could not be sure it was only his mind's ear, or the near by pig market, but he was certain he could hear Caroline Bingley's squeal of delight at the thought of such blatant indecorum on the Bennet family's behalf. Louisa Hurst was likely to welcome the news with as much tact as her younger sister, and as Darcy had long been of the opinion Mr. Hurst's mind took leave of his body the day he agreed to marry the older Miss Bingley he did not trouble his own, well situated one, as to how to break the news to the lethargic walrus or the shrew he had married. That left only Bingley and Georgina.

Bingley knew nothing of the exact history between Darcy and Wickham, and neither would he understand why his friend took it upon himself to resort the name of a family he so obviously had so little time for. (Fortunately for Darcy he was not of a self-pitying nature, if he had been, he reasoned, he would probably now be looking for some open grave to lie in: as it was he satisfied himself with a few mental kicks every so often.) On the other hand, Bingley would very likely summon up some borrowed courage and offer to assist Darcy in nobly tracking down the villain and bringing him to justice. Quite how long he would be able to keep a hold of this courage before he felt the need to return it was another matter, especially if events took the nasty turn Darcy himself was expecting, and fully prepared to meet if they did. Bingley was brave, but he was no Achilles: he would have to tell Georgina.

Darcy let out an audible groan at the thought of this, which would have prompted a confused look from the stable groom, if the gentleman had not insisted on stabling his horse himself, (as it was this was the groom's first day so that order had in itself prompted a confused look). The five mile ride from Lambton to Pemberley had not been quite long enough for him to summon up the resolve he knew he would need to tell his sister the truth, although, in his defence, he could have ridden from Dundee to Land's End and still be in no better position. He left himself one option, the brutal truth: it would be quick and painless.

Locating Georgina was not hard, even for a man not really trying. She was sat at her pianoforte, gently tapping the keys so that they produced an unmistakably French tune. She was humming the words, fretful lest any of the house guests should hear her. Oddly enough it was this fact and not their ill-bred, obnoxious attitudes which made Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst most unpopular with the multitudes of household staff at Pemberley: Miss Darcy had a beautiful singing voice, and any cause of deprivation from it was to be universally shunned. (That pretty, country lass Miss Bennet had managed to get Miss Darcy to sing, but as she was accompanied by an uncle who worked in trade, a reoccurrence of this feat was not likely.)

Although not one to put much stock in fate, Darcy could not help but think this idyllic scene was another trail sent to test him by the bored, pubescent schoolboy in the sky. Therefore he did what any right-minded young man would so when trying to convey bad news, without actually having to go through that odious task of speaking, he cleared his throat, loudly.

As this counted as something of an idiolect for Mr. Darcy, Georgiana spun round on her piano stool with a beaming smile, ready to greet her brother.

Quick and painless.

"Georgiana," Darcy began with the ease of a man whom words never failed. "I'm afraid I must leave for London, immediately. There is some, urgent business I need to attend to."

"Oh. – What business is it?"

"It is only a small, irritable matter really: one I should have set right long ago."

It was a truth, of sorts – an economical truth.

Georgina looked puzzled, it was not like her brother to be complacent. Fortunately though Darcy mistook this look of puzzlement for upset, lest he fancied himself caught out.

"Don't fret, I shall not be gone longer than a fortnight, and if you feel the need to rid yourself of any guest, you may want to suggest they take a walk trough the Northern woods."

"But the paths in the Northern woods were washed away in the spring rain. They have not been properly replaced yet. Someone could get lost, or fall down a ditch or – or –" Georgina smiled at her own folly. "Oh."

"Oh indeed." Darcy smiled back and, kissing the top of his sister's head said, "Take care."

"You too! – Oh, wait! What should I tell Miss Bennet?"

"Miss Bennet?"

"She and Mr and Mrs Gardiner are to dine with us today."

"Miss Bennet – Miss Bennet I'm afraid has had to return home on – urgent business, along with Mr and Mrs Gardiner. I saw her this morning in Lambton – It appears one of her family members has suffered a sudden batch of dementia."

Georgina now looked miserable indeed; she would now not only lose her brother, but a woman whose friendship she felt she could value most highly. She sat down again at her piano, her song this time sombre. Darcy heard it not: he had gone in search of Mrs. Reynolds.

* * *

**A/N: ** This is just something I've been experimenting with. In a nut shell it's the story of Lydia's 'elopment' but focusing on Darcy's side of the tale, not Lizzy's. If you like it please review and I'll write more, but I'm warning you all, no reviews no Chapter II. I'm a bossy little so-and-so. 

**Disclaimer: **I'm pretty sure I have Lizzy's family, and I definatley have her name but alas, I own nothing.


	2. Chapter II

_Why art thou silent & invisible_

_Father of Jealousy_

_Why dost thou hide thyself in clouds_

_From every searching Eye?_

_Why darkness of obscurity_

_In all they words & laws,_

_That none dare eat the fruit but from_

_The wily serpent's jaws?_

_Or is it because Secresy_

_Gains females' loud applause?_

_BLAKE_

The privileges that arise from being the master of an estate the size of Pemberley are only to be matched by the responsibilities. For example, if one were suddenly taken with the earnest desire to do something not only very heroic, but also rather rash there would first be the small matter of the housekeeper to attend to: and then the butler, the steward, the bailiff and the stable master. And propriety would for sure dictate that, not only must a reasonable, straightforward avowal be given to these members of the household but that the master must of course wait until the chambermaids, housemaids, footmen, coachmen, washer-women, bootboys, gardeners and grooms also knew this reason before he could even dream of leaving.

Fortunately for Darcy word spread just as quickly among the working classes as it did among the bourgeoisie, especially if it could be passed off as gossip. Even for a man who abhorred tittle-tattle he could not fail to see its more practical uses.

The upside of this was that, little over a day after he had promised himself to act upon instinct, the Master of Pemberley found himself saddling his horse to do just that.

I cannot suppose that any of my readers have ever ridden from Derbyshire to London during the height of the summer heat, and it is not my object to describe such a venture to them. We may all rest assured however in the knowledge that, even in a time when horsemanship was commonplace, it was not an endeavour many would wish to endure. It did however ensure a speedier journey than the same course taken by coach, and to a man who had already lost a day, speed and haste easily overtook comfort. Moreover, hardship, it is true, never seems quite so awful when the object of the suffering is love, or vengeance, or, in this one case, both.

Darcy arrived at his town house one hour after midnight. Fatigue consumed him but he had one final task to complete before he could give in to his body's plea for rest. With more speed than his legs thought they could grant he scaled the flight of stairs and raced to his study, in a such a manner as he knew he would never succumb to were it not for the fact that it was one o'clock on the morning and the whole household was asleep.

With a passion usually kept under the tightest guard he tore through his desk until he found the one scrap of paper he had hoped he would never have to look on again. Exhausted, he fell back in his chair and into a sleep that was ominously sound.

The following morning Mrs. Brumstock finally got her comeuppance for thinking a little to well of herself and the position she held as housekeeper of the Darcy Town House. If it weren't for her previous station of lady maid to the late Mrs. Darcy, the affected woman would have found herself adequately paid off the second the new master came into power. As it was she had already lived through most of the last century and was unlikely to see much more of the new, so Darcy let her continue with her ways, even if they were generally out-favoured by those of the more agreeable butler.

These comeuppances were paid not only through the fact that the master had arrived at the house six hours ahead of the messenger sent to relay such intelligence, but that the discovery of this fact came about when the housekeeper entered the study in order to draw the curtains, to find her master unreservedly asleep.

The shocking revelation that even the very great can sometimes fall asleep at their desks was enough to awakened in the woman a sense of humility that no amount of preaching had yet been able to summon, which was fortunate for her sake for, little did she know, her master, asleep or not, was in no mood to suffer fools.

When Darcy awoke he was, of course, completely unaware that he had been found in such an unrefined state of comatose. Had he been aware he probably would not have minded as such, as it would have spared him the sense of responsibility owed to honour and formality, both of which held him back from his task for yet another hour.

No matter how liberating an experience it might have offered, Darcy was not about to go walking the streets of London unshaven and caked in a day's ride's worth of dust. He washed, dressed, ate and left, heading in the direction of the address written on the slip of paper: Edward Street.

Three nights after the events described above, George Wickham decided that there was not enough liquor in his body, let alone his lodgings, to do what he must in order to keep Lydia Bennet's surprisingly expert, but regrettable talkative mouth otherwise occupied. The amount required would not be small, but then London was a vast city and, when he had chanced to look out of the window, the evening seemed particularly fine. It was with no small degree of surprise then that he opened his front door to discover that a storm of biblical magnitude had somehow managed to configure itself into the shape of one Mr. Darcy.


	3. Chapter III

_Out of the night that covers me,_

_Black as the pit from pole to pole,_

_I thank whatever gods may be_

_For my unconquerable soul._

_In the fell clutch of circumstance,_

_I have not winced or cried aloud._

_Under the bludgeonings of chance,_

_My head is bloody, but unbowed_

_HENLEY_

I would hope that none of my readers know what it is to hate: to hate in such a manner that, when in the proximity of the object of that hate, all reason and logic is abandoned in favour of outright ferociousness.

If they do know what it is to feel such strength of emotion then they may be better positioned to understand exactly why Mr. Wickham decided that upon leaving his residence he should land his fist squarely in Mr. Darcy's face, and why Mr. Darcy, in turn, returned that fist with one of his own and so on and so forth.

The spectacle of seeing two gentleman-like young men roughing it up in the dank streets of Southeast London was enough to draw a small sized crowd, along with the hunches and bets that accompany such events. The townspeople were admittedly at a loss as to whom they thought would win: Wickham had the experience, but Darcy had the physique, it was a close match.

Darcy did indeed have the physique: he was a good two inches taller than Wickham (who was by no standards a short person himself), and had all the finesse that can be gained from long hours of horsemanship and fencing.

Wickham, however, had rarely left a village without being called out by some angry sort or another. Indeed, he rarely left a public house without so to-do occurring first. Experience had taught him that gentlemanly conduct, where street fights where concerned, would only leave you on the wrong end of a black eye and so, in accordance with this, he bit and scratched and clawed at anything he could reasonably concur to be a part of Darcy.

As it was by the time tempers had cooled somewhat Wickham had indeed gained a black eye, as well as a fat lip. Fortunately for he sake of _his_ pride though, so had Darcy. The two men sat, more than a bit abashed in the pews of St. Martin's Church on – street, where the rector, conscious of keeping the peace in his own little parish, had pulled them into, lest one of them do the other a harm that could not be undone.

He provided water and cloth and then left the men to tidy themselves up while he attended to a much distressed, (and admittedly aroused, although she was damned if she was going to acknowledge it in front of a priest) Lydia, who stood at the other end of the church occupying herself by doing such a good impersonation of her mother that, had you only heard of the character of Mrs. Bennet, you would surely mistake her youngest for she. Of the two gentlemen neither spoke: there didn't seem much to say.

Finally Wickham, whether because he felt the most uncomfortable in a church or because he had never had the mental capacity to go ten minutes without hearing the sound of his own voice commented on the exquisiteness of the stone carvings and wondered if they may even be medieval. Darcy in turn called him a nonce and pointed out that they were clearly late restoration. Not much was said after that.

After many more minutes Wickham again broke the silence by enquiring after Georgiana for, as he said, "it has been almost a year since I last saw her. Tell me, how does her French get on?"

"It gets on very well think you." Darcy replied through teeth so gritted, it was a miracle any sound escaped them at all.

"I am very glad to hear it. Georgiana always did have the most wonderful lilt to her French. You would be hard pressed to believe she had not come straight from one of Bonaparte's bedchambers her accent is so good. Lydia admittedly is not so well versed in the language, though I find her mouth does have an amazing grasp of other French techniques."

"She is just a child."

"Oh, but I think I shall have to disagree with you there old chum. But tell me Darcy, how does a Superior Being such as yourself come to find himself in my end of London? Surely not to admit you're just as human as the rest of us, hey Darcy? With human urges and human needs? Well I am more than happy to share my company if it so pleases you. Trust me, there's more than enough company in these good parts to satisfy us both."

Wickham knew he was treading on dangerous ground. The muscles in Darcy's face were tensing at a rate that left him in no doubt that, if he continued to tread on this dangerous ground, he would likely find himself with a new black eye to match his first one. However, if he was being honest, (a activity Wickham rarely found the time or the inclination to engage in), he was quite surprised Darcy had even let him get away with the Georgiana jibe. He obviously has some higher calling with graced him with the patience of a saint. Wickham wanted to see how long he could test that patience.

"And surely Darcy you must agree I keep such good company. Then again," he cut off with a sly smirk. "Your tastes have always tended towards something a little more mature. I don't much see the point of that myself. Bedding a woman of marrying age, might as well get married and be done with it. No, I suppose I'm just a fool for innocence."

"The serpent said just as much."

"True, but it was Lucifer's _pride_ that caused him to fall in the first place, so you have no moral high ground there my friend. Still, if I was being honest." (Two times in one day, this was a cause for concern.) "Had I had the choice I would have preferred something a little more mature myself this time, but I'm afraid my dearest Lydia was just too good an opportunity to miss."

"And so that _is_ your refrain. You slander the Bennet family name for an opportunity."

"I cannot see that it matters much to you if I do! Come now Darcy, from what I've heard from our mutual acquaintances in Hertfordshire you are not altogether fond of the Bennet family yourself. Those Bennet girls were ripe for the picking and you know it as well as I do."

"I cannot imagine what you mean." Again through gritted teeth.

"Ever the satirist Darcy. But you must concede, with a father as indifferent as theirs' it will only be a matter of time before their mother realises that there may be more money to be made if they do _not_ marry. And indeed, if poor old Mr. Bennet should soon pop is clogs, I doubt they will have little else but their charms to recommend them, and charms, as we all know, when used well can bring in a far greater sum of money than matrimony. And so you see, I was only doing dear Lydia a favour: giving her a _leg up_ for when the inevitable happens.

Still, maybe I am jumping to unreasonable conclusions. I mean after all, the three eldest Miss Bennets have enough learning about them to be of use to some well to-do family or another. More's the pity really in that case as the two eldest are undoubtedly fine girls. But then I hear on that point we are again at odds! 'Not handsome enough to tempt me.' My-my Darcy you are cruel. Poor Elizabeth. Well, more fool you I say for in my mind she's the best of the lot. The Jane one I suppose is more attractive, but she's too pristine, too good. Elizabeth though, with that dark hair and ample – well, even you can't have failed to notice the ampleness. But the thing with Elizabeth, the thing that really get my blood flowing, is the fact that you can see it in her eyes that she. Elizabeth Bennet, is absolute gaggin' for it."

Wickham was right about one thing: he did find himself with another black eye. The provocation for it though took him by surprise. While the rector was trying to talk some divine sense into Darcy, Wickham tried to consider this.

The pain in his right eye was telling him that Darcy obviously liked the idea of him and Elizabeth Bennet even less than he liked the idea of him and Georgiana. This was an interesting revelation and made the true reason for Wickham's liaison with Lydia all the sweeter for it.


End file.
